Somebody told me I was done
I was formally broken raw
Been reloaded frozen not thawed
I was a mess now I am collect connected and tied
To the grace of God me and my Father are one
Me and my Father are one
Been torn discarded and warned
At a point once I'd wish I'd never been born
But the Lord graced me He embraced me
Now I am free, I am alive I am His alone His child
I was a mess now I'm collected connected
And tied to the Grace of God me and my Father
Me and my Father are one
In the tumult in the toils
In the rains in the storms
In the coolness in the warms
Weather storm emotional spiritual spawns
I thank mine creator for His rebirth in me sown
I was a mess now I'm collected connected
And tied to the Grace of God me and my Father
Me and my Father are one
6/22/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2023
Hurt of holidays,
December vacation daze
From toils and travails
Of tense, maddening travels,
Remorse on return, mind blasé.
____________________________
Tanka |07.12.2022|
Poet’s note: Some social visits this December following deaths in family, travelling to and from and under stress, body feeling tired, and mind when meanders in thoughts…I recall, even in youth sometimes holidays feeling like holidaze what with all the journey ending with sightseeing, one keen to get most of vacation time. I am sure, many a travel-returnee must be wondering if holidays were well their worth, with frantic travels turning into travails and toils.
sore the heart so aches
tears flow down our faces fall
lost filled with no joy
1/25/2022
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
The dense stratus manipulates the sunlight
Rugged heath fades as day turns to night,
Solitary tree recoils
Unaware embroils
In respect
Toils,
Self respect
In winter’s turmoil's
Evokes and then disembroils,
When with groans of naked limbs doth fight
Sees off the weary wind on its way in flight.
© Harry J Horsman 2021
An Andaree form
Amid taxing toils and ever ebbing throes,
We totter toward the end that must come;
Yielding all stale themes of yester-breath,
Our face as meek as that of a dying lamb.
Such ill-fated Odyssey kicks off with a cry
Of baffled aspects between fright and joy,
And thus unfurls green every puerile soul,
Mocking suns that idly as fierce wasps fly.
In clueless middle of life's vanishing rise,
Beauty's Foe hatches his secret disguise
That steals unseen health's naive gleams,
And in bits confounds her soaring dreams.
At last are her tics shut piece after piece
By plotting Hour who fairer lucks thieves;
And blends of sad sighs and deft disease
Slay any fags of throb swift sunset leaves.
Not so fickle this trembling hand's doleful ink:
It'll kick and roam past Time's snobbish brink!
The feathery dusky violets,
Of a purplish vaulted sky royal,
Tickles the genteel soles of twilights,
It wakes to a bluing chambered hall,
Whilst ups a blanched dress as white stars sprawl
A-s he toils with utmost ardor,
N-ever does he lose his vigor;
G-iving his extreme energy,
E-difying the weak daily,
L-etting the parents and children
O-pen their hearts to new heaven.
M-an of faith, trust, hope, and love too
A-ims to glorify God so true,
N-o single stone is left unturned
A-s he has just zealously learned,
L-ies of the enemy he foils,
O-nce he speaks the truth as he toils.
Topic: Birthday of Bro. Angelo Eraño V. Manalo (May 1)
Form: Acrostic Couplet
his sinewy hands
looked over the vast expanse
sweat drops and meanders
haiku toils voyage/ Copyright (C) rajat kanti chakrabarty 11/26/2014
Pigment and yolk
are together softened, held in hues passing
between salmon and tangerine
the springtime of youth
in a brilliant force of pastels
Those shades
that stretch summer to autumn
flush garnet, russet, sanguine, rust,
blending the years in
with gentler greys
beneath the muted cloak of winter's shadow
Life in one smooth harmony
as the brush toils, and the paint gets the glory